Listen Closely
by Valerie E. Mackin
Summary: She's pissed. Very pissed. And, seriously, Murphy could have tried a lot harder. Seventh story in my Boondock Saints OC arc. Rated M for language, mild violence, and smut. Challenge/companion piece for Rhanon Brodie's "Yours and Mine."


_Author's Note: SURPRISE! I didn't see this one coming! Think of it as a two-part bonus (second part is called "I'm Listening"). This story is a result of a dual challenge (challenge duel?) between Rhanon Brodie and me…I guess we got restless, and our stories were the results. I never planned for this story, but it and the follow-up fit snuggly between my last pair-up and the next set of stories I've got. If you haven't already, make sure to read Rhanon Brodie's "Yours and Mine". If it didn't invent the term smoldering, it surely perfected it. Poor Murphy…between the two of us, we've abused him pretty soundly._

If Murphy hadn't met me after work and walked me to McGinty's from the subway, I'd probably have crawled home in shame and committed genocide on my ice cream stash. Wallow in self pity, that sort of thing.

As it is, I'm currently wallowing on a bar stool next to one of the two hottest men in South Boston, and all I can think about is how someone stealing my lunch from the refrigerator at work was only the second worst thing to happen today.

I love my lunches.

Murphy's doing his best, though. On the way here, he stopped and got us these amazing meat/vegetable/pastry/saucy things, like a pot pie without the pot. No idea what they're actually called besides delicious.

After three shots, he finally gets me out of brood mode and into "spill my guts and become increasingly irritated as I rehash the shittiness that was today" mode. My words, not his.

"I deserved the damn promotion, Murph." There are commiserating nods up and down the bar; these guys have been there before. "I practically live at the office." More nods; they've seen me drag my tired ass in here after twelve, fourteen, even sixteen hour days. "I just don't get it. Jen's only been there a few months. Months!"

"Did ye ask th'upper levels why y'were passed over?"

I shake my head. "I was too emotional, and I knew I'd say something stupid or start crying or some junk. Figured it'd be better if I waited a few days and calmed down." This is very rational of me (though it doesn't improve my mood at all), and Murphy slings an arm around my shoulders.

"You know what's even worse, Murph?" He shakes his head, waiting. "I brought the best lunch today. Seriously, it was going to be absolutely divine. I was so excited. I finally get my break two hours late, but I'm okay because I have my lunch that I'm all excited about, right? And I get to the break room, and I open the fridge. Bam."

He looks confused. "What happened?"

"Some asshole piece of shit motherfucker actually stole my lunch. Like, took my Tupperware container and everything. Just took my whole lunch. It literally had my name on it, Murph. So, no lunch because I had a meeting in fifteen minutes and no time to go get anything else. And what becomes the main subject of the meeting?"

He grimaces in sympathy. "The promotion?"

"The fucking promotion." I sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to drag down your whole evening. You deserve better company. Are Connor and Roc not coming tonight? I figured they'd be here by now."

He sips his pint and shrugs. "They're out doing somethin' or other. I figured I'd rather hang out with you, speakin' of better company. Y'don't mind it's just us?"

I glance around the noisy, crowded bar, then back at Murphy with a half-smile. "Nope. It's cozier this way, more private. Intimate, even."

I get his patented, wonderfully sexy half-smile in return.

"There's m'girl. Be right back, lass." He plants a quick kiss on my forehead and slides off his stool, sauntering towards the bathroom.

I hate to see Murphy go, but I sure do love to watch him leave.

And then I sink back into my pissy mode. I really did deserve the promotion; this isn't me having a pity party. I've been actively working my ass off toward that specific job for over two years, and Jen's been at the company for five months at the most.

And who the _FUCK_ steals somebody's lunch?! What, are we in third grade or something?

The thought of quitting crosses my mind, but I dismiss it quickly. I enjoy my work too much, even though I bitch fairly consistently about it.

I'm so absorbed in my wallowing that I'm staring at Murphy and the red head for quite some time before I actually realize what I'm looking at.

She's hot, I'll grudgingly give her that, with a killer figure wrapped in a shiny, skin-tight green micro dress. Honey, St. Patty's isn't for a while yet; what the hell. She's wearing typical sexy make-up, hook-up jewelry, and fuck-me heels that I've been lusting over for three months now.

She's pressed against Murphy from pelvis to shoulder while she whispers and giggles in his ear. Her crimson talons are splayed over his chest in an intimate "I'm so fragile I need your help just to stay balanced" gesture.

Murphy is looking bemused but just a little too pleased at the unexpected attention as he extricates himself from the red-and-green firebomb and returns to his seat.

"Making new friends?" I ask waspishly from between clenched teeth. This is _not_ how I'd like my night to go.

He blinks in surprise then narrows his eyes at me. I've never taken this tone with him or Connor. This is new territory for me, as well; I've never had to "stake my claim," as it were. But the sight of her plastered all over one of _my_ Irishmen is stoking a fire in my stomach I didn't know was even smoldering in the first place.

"She ambushed me on m'way back over to ye. Didn't mean anythin' at all." My disbelieving snort brings a smirk to his face. "Jealous, are ye?"

I've found the direct approach is best with Murphy. "Damn straight."

He laughs, and the flames in my gut retreat just a little.

The next hour or so is as pleasant as it can be after the day I've had. Murphy teases me and jokes with me until I manage to loosen up and mostly forget about work. After a while, I leave Murphy talking to Doc as I head to the bathroom. I'm not drunk, but I definitely have a nice buzz going.

Which is why it's such a system shock to spot Poison Ivy on my stool, leaning over Murphy, and laughing as she squeezes her chest against his bicep. To give him some credit, he looks a little uncomfortable at the close, personal contact; however, he's not throwing her off his arm and denouncing her as a heinous, street-walking trollop in front of everyone, so it's just not enough for me.

Deep breath. Keep calm and carry on. It's not like he's wearing a sign with my name on it (I should probably fix that, for him _and_ for Connor). Maybe she's new to McGinty's and doesn't know he's spoken for.

…Right.

Still, I can give her the benefit of the doubt. I'm an intelligent, reasonable person. For now. I tap her shoulder.

"Excuse me, hun, I think you have a couple of things that belong to me."

She turns wide, green, heavily made-up, definitely-assessing eyes on me. Apparently, she finds me lacking in the threat department, because she dismisses me with a smirk and without a word. She turns back to Murphy with a sneering little smile, and the furnace in my stomach cranks up a few notches. I can feel my face heating up.

Funny thing is I'm not embarrassed, not even a little. She only gets one more chance, though, and now I'm done asking nicely.

"Seriously, get the fuck off my seat and my boyfriend."

Either she can hear the sudden gravity in my tone, or I've annoyed her enough to finally have her attention. Either way, she pivots elegantly on the stool to face me, magically managing to keep her legs crossed at the same time.

Did I mention she's hot? Seriously, if I batted for the other team, I've give her more than a passing glance. I can't —completely— blame Murphy for enjoying her attention.

Hot or not, though, I can completely blame her.

Her smirk is fully established as she glances around the room. She must enjoy an audience. Most eyes are on us, though most people are semi-polite enough to pretend to be paying attention to anything else. Murphy, however, is doing a terrible job of hiding his full-blown grin behind his beer.

He has no idea.

"Sweetie, you couldn't even hold him for long enough to make it to the bathroom and back. All I had to do was sit down and say hi, and I had his full attention. What makes you seriously think he would ever choose you when he can have me?"

I think half the room has just sucked in their breath. Seriously, people?

She's waiting on my response, probably expecting some sort of witty retort or sniveling plea to leave me alone. The last thing she seems to expect, though, is a full frontal assault.

My hand snaps out, wrapping around the long chain at her neck. I twist, giving it a sharp yank and jerking her forward off my stool. She stumbles on her stilettos, and I find myself childishly hoping one of the heels will snap off.

Since she's got a couple of inches on me to begin with (plus the height from her elevator shoes), I wrench the chain down, pulling her face level with mine. I eye her steadily until she blanches (an interesting color, as she's also turning a little red from the pressure on her neck), and when I finally speak my voice comes out even and cold.

"I've had a shitty day, Princess. I want to enjoy the rest of the evening in peace. I would enjoy it a lot more without you oozing all over my seat and my boyfriend. I would really appreciate it if you would get the fuck out of my territory and find someone else to stick to. Do you get what I'm saying?"

I give her time to answer, but she just stares at me in shock. Sighing, I give the chain a little tug.

"Okay, let me put this in terms you might understand better. If you don't get the fuck away from me and mine, I will shove those hooker heals so far into your anatomy you will gain very permanent, very uncomfortable five-inch attachments to your spinal column. _Do. You. Understand_?"

The chain digs into the skin around her neck, but she only hesitates a moment before nodding frantically, her eyes watering a little with shock and panic. I release her necklace and watch impassively as she stumbles backwards into my stool, knocking it to the floor with a clatter that echoes through the silent room.

Really, people?

Instead of leaving, though, she actually turns to Murphy as if she thinks he'll help.

"You're just gonna sit there and let her pull that shit? She assaulted me!" She actually sounds insulted. I find myself begrudgingly impressed; talk about some serious righteous indignation crossed with massive self-delusion. That's got to take quite a lot of commitment.

He grins. "You took m'girl's seat. She asked ye nicely th'first couple of times…what'd ye expect?"

Her eyes are wide with disbelief. She should be careful, what with all that make-up; they may just stick that way.

I could help her with that.

"You're seriously choosing this psycho bitch over me?"

He finishes his beer and sets the empty glass on the bar.

"Yep."

My patience was gone a long time ago. I take two steps forward and grab her chin hard, jerking her eyes to mine.

"Listen closely, bitch, because I don't fucking like repeating myself, and you've already made me do it twice. You said you understood me. Clearly that isn't the case. Apparently I need to add "desperate whore" and "lying dumbass" to your list of transgressions tonight. Shall I proceed accordingly, or are you going to take your last fucking chance to walk out the goddamn door in one piece without scarring?"

Silence. Oh, for God's sake people, turn the fucking television on already.

She rips her chin from my hand and practically sprints to the door, which impresses me all over again. I can barely walk in heels, much less run. There are several laughs and a ridiculous smatter of applause as everyone _finally_ returns to their own damn business.

So…take away the irritant, but I'm still beyond pissed. I almost wish she'd said one more fucking thing to me.

Speaking of, now it's time for the man of the hour himself.

"That was—" I cut Murphy off, jerking him around by the collar of his shirt and crushing his lips to mine. He reacts almost as explosively as I'm feeling, and I'm fairly certain one or both of us will have bruised lips tomorrow.

I shove him back a couple of inches, glaring full force at him. My chest is heaving, and I'm doing my best to ignore the attention that is riveted on us once more. He could have tried a little harder to get rid of the red head…or at least not quite so openly and obviously enjoyed the attention.

"You have exactly ten minutes to find someplace for me to fuck you brainless, or you are sleeping alone tonight."

He stares at me blankly; he's not dealt with this side of me before, and he's not sure what to do.

"Hang on a sec. If yer pissed at me, we should—"

"You could have tried a little harder to get rid of her, Murph, let's be honest. Now: less talking, more finding. You've wasted nineteen seconds."

I only need to tell him twice.

Half our clothes are off before we've cleared the elevator, and I don't even care if Connor and Rocco are here. They can sit back and enjoy the show. I don't know how the poor door is still standing, but we manage to get on the proper side of it before we shut it. After that, it's all teeth, skin, and sweat.

There might be some nails involved, too.

Murphy is feeding brilliantly off my furious energy, meeting me thrust for thrust with a fervor that I know my hipbones will pay for in the morning. But it isn't enough. A frustrated growl escapes me. I hook a leg around his hip, rolling both of us over so I'm on top. That's better.

He starts to say something, but I silence him with a combination of fingernails on his chest and my tongue down his throat, and he doesn't seem to have any protests after that.

I drag his hands from my breasts to just below my waist, sinking his fingers hard into my hips. My boys have always been good at taking hints when it comes to sex (though they remain sadly clueless in a couple of other areas), and he uses his grip to pound even harder.

Normally, I try to stifle any noise I make. I know there's an older lady living below the boys, and I hate the thought of her overhearing all this.

Tonight, I don't care if they hear us all the fucking way back at McGinty's.

It's over far sooner than I'd hoped, but I'm not left wanting in the orgasm department. My nails dig hard into Murphy's shoulders as it rips through me, Murphy coming nearly at the same time. There's some shuddering, heavy panting, before I can finally allow myself to roll off Murphy with a mostly satisfied growl.

"Christ, woman, th'fuck's gotten into ye t'night?" Murphy wheezes next to me. I allow myself a small smirk into the darkness. Murphy turns and pulls me towards him, kissing and gnawing his way along my shoulder. One of his hands moves to my semi-neglected breasts (to be fair, I did pull him away from them) and begins kneading and squeezing in time with his biting.

I quietly enjoy the attention for a few minutes, but I'm still restless. I turn suddenly, shoving him onto his back and straddling him again. Leaning forward until my nipples are brushing his chest, I take his face roughly between my hands and gaze sternly into his eyes.

"Seriously, Murph, I'm going to need you to try a lot harder to get rid of the bitches next time."

I cut off his response with a long, slow kiss full of tongue and promise. I don't hear a single objection from him for the rest of the night.

Sometime later, I'm not sure exactly when, I hear the door open through a haze of near-sleep. I'm wrapped around Murphy from his shoulder to his ankles, and I'm so comfortable and exhausted that I refuse to move even to greet Connor.

"Jesus, Murph, what th'fuck didja get up to t'night? Her shirt's in shreds, an' th'door's on its last fuckin' hinge!"

"Lord's fuckin' name. And it's no worse'n you an' she got up to th'first night ye met her," Murphy grumbles in response.

"Th'little neighbor woman from downstairs asked if one of ye was havin' some sorta fit or somethin', Murph. Lass's bra is hangin' from th' fuckin' elevator!"

Oops.

"Seriously, what happened t'night? Ye get in a fight? Ye've got scratch marks an' bruises everywhere, looks like a cat got after ye. A really big, really pissed off cat."

Oops.

"Long story real short, lass had a rough day at work. Someone stole her lunch (Connor snorts at this; they both know what I'm like when it comes to food), and then it went downhill from there. Then some woman at McGinty's tried t'move in on our girl's territory, so t'speak."

"Hot, slutty girl hit on ye, eh?"

"Aye, pretty much." Murphy pauses, and I know he's choosing his next words carefully. I'm surprised they're still speaking in English; normally when they have conversations about me, they switch over to a different language so I won't know what they're saying.

"T'be honest, Conn, I'm not sure if I should be advisin' ye t'piss her off or t'stay th'fuck outta her way when she's on a rampage. Bit of a temper she's got on her, our lass."

Fuckin' A, I do.

Connor wisely chooses not to respond.

_Author's Note (cont.): Heh. That was seriously fun to write. The next one takes a bit more of a serious turn, though, just so's you know. Again, if you haven't checked out Rhanon Brodie's "Yours and Mine", you're a horrible delinquent; for shame, rabid fan people. Thanks for reading! Hope you take the time to review!_


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